CXLVII
Two years, six months, and five days after Henry's disappearance
(continued)
I relived the memories of my time in the lab from a new perspective. Back then, I remember feeling terrified and sad about my siblings' attacks. Now, even as I relived their aggression, all I felt was a deep sense of hopelessness
What would have become of Two and the others if Papa had never crossed their paths?
What would have become of Henry and me?
Even if it meant never meeting him, I think I would have preferred Henry to be happy.
But maybe we were too different from the start.
When Henry first told me his story—or rather, One's story, in the Rainbow Room—I remember feeling intrigued and hopeful at the prospect of finally learning how to control my abilities.
Even so, his words were difficult for me to accept: enhancing my abilities through sadness and anger…? I knew the first one well, but the second didn't come naturally to me.
It still doesn't. I recognize that I am more prone to sinking directly into sadness rather than anger.
In fact, during this memory, all I could do was watch him, see the way his mouth moved as he told the story that—I would later discover—had shaped him.
And even then, I didn't feel sad. Not even a little.
The emotion I felt was just as overwhelming, but it had nothing to do with sadness.
The next memory Kali reveals takes me to another moment with Henry. I'm not surprised: my entire life has been marked by him. These past two years? Marked as well, though by his absence.
In this memory, he stands behind me, his hands on my shoulders, encouraging me to split a tree trunk with my abilities. Our Christmas tree, under which I would later place my gift for him.
Even in the memory, it feels good to sense that electric current running through my veins, the one that signals the awakening of my powers. But I know this is only an illusion. That door remains shut.
Because, once again, I don't feel anger or sadness. Maybe I didn't even feel them back then, with Henry so close to me, his warmth like a protective blanket against the winter cold.
Maybe I felt something else—the beginnings of a very different feeling, one I didn't yet know how to name.
The last memory truly put things into perspective.
It's a memory of the day I woke up without my powers, feeling as if a part of me had been ripped away. And I don't mean just my abilities.
I mean the day Henry disappeared.
The day I also transported an entire building to another dimension. Something unthinkable just hours before—not to mention for the Eleven of the previous two memories.
And how did I do it?
Because the moment I saw Henry shudder in pain, on the verge of convulsions… The moment I saw his veins stand out beneath his skin, his teeth clenched, and the first tears escaping his eyes…
In that moment, I could only react one way: by tearing reality apart around us to ease his pain.
And the only thought in my mind was this:
No. I will not let them hurt the person I love.
When I opened my eyes again, Kali was staring at me, a hint of distrust clouding her gaze.
I didn't blame her. I understand perfectly that, after years on the streets, her survival instincts are finely tuned. And in my memories, she had seen exactly what I was capable of.
Carefully, I stood up and headed toward the front of the house. Kali followed in silence. Seeing me cross the room, Dad, Mom, and Dr. Owens did the same, murmurs of curiosity on their lips.
Once outside, I raised my arm, my fingers curling toward Dad's truck.
Following my movement as if it were as light as a feather, the vehicle lifted into the air.
I heard startled gasps and even laughter behind me.
I myself couldn't help but smile as I gently set the truck back down.
Then, I hugged Kali. I said "thank you" only once because my voice was shaking. And though she hesitated at first, she eventually wrapped her arms around me.
There, as the scent of her leather jacket filled my lungs, I saw my path more clearly than ever.
…
Henry cannot come to me. That much is clear.
Then, I will go to him.